"Nat Poole, do you mean to insinuate that I am the son of a thief?" he demanded.
"Oh, a fellow don't know what to think," replied the Crumville aristocrat, with a sneer.
"Then take that for your opinion."
It was a telling blow, delivered with a passion that Dave could not control. It took Nat Poole squarely in the mouth, and the aristocrat went down with a thud, flat on his back. His lip was cut and two of his teeth were loosened, while the country's boy's fist showed a skinned knuckle.
"Whoop! did you see that!"
"My! what a sledge-hammer blow!"
"Poole is knocked out clean!"
Such were some of the comments, in the midst of which Nat Poole sat up, dazed and bewildered. Then he gasped, and ejected some blood from his mouth.
"You—you" he began.
"Stay where you are, Nat Poole," said Dave, in a voice that was as cold as ice. "Don't you dare to budge!"
"Wha-what?"
"Don't you dare to budge until you have begged my pardon."
"Me? Beg your pardon! I'd like to see myself!"
"Well, that is just what you are going to do! If you don't, do you know what I'll do? I'll throw
